


The Results of Things Overheard in a Schoolyard

by BottleofInk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Adoption, Dumbledore isn't evil but he's pretty blind, Fix-It, Goblins, Harry gets to be a kid, Manipulative Dumbledore, Owls, Sarah Williams Absent-Mindedly Assembles an Army, Sarah Williams isn't to be trifled with, competent adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 11:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11943315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottleofInk/pseuds/BottleofInk
Summary: Harry makes a wish and someone saves him.Because the wizarding world needs a dose of competent, protective parents who won't put up with eleven-year-olds bearing the weight of the world.





	The Results of Things Overheard in a Schoolyard

**Author's Note:**

> This is a similar idea to something I wrote almost two years ago, but a little different and a little more fleshed out. Someday, I'll write a proper, full-length fic about this idea, but for now here it is as it stands.
> 
> If anyone is interested in writing something similar, feel free! And send me a link when you're done, I love this idea and would love reading more of it. I adore stories where little Harry gets saved by competent adults.

He had heard it from one of the other students on the playground – overheard it, really. He had been hiding behind a bush from Dudley and two girls had stopped there to talk.

The conversation had gone something like this:

“My mama told me if you’re ever really bad, someone might wish you away to the goblins, and they’ll turn you into a goblin!”

“That sounds icky!”

“Ya, but mama said when she was a kid she tried wishing HERSELF away, because she was scared when she was bad once. Of course it didn’t work, but mama says it was probably because she got the words wrong. _Anyway,_ she said I should be doubly careful and do all my chores just in case, and then maybe because I’ve been so doubly sure I’ll get extra pudding at dessert.”

~*~ 

It’s remarkable the things that flash across your mind when you’re in danger. Sometimes your world is nothing but the person bearing down upon you, violence in their eyes, but sometimes other things fight for attention – like a half-remembered conversation overheard on a schoolyard.

Harry scrambled into the cupboard as quickly as his six-year-old legs could take him, and tried desperately to hold the door shut, even as each thundering step of his uncle rattled the frame.

“I wish – I wish – the goblins would come take me away! Please!” 

After all, anything would be better than the belt. If he was a goblin, maybe no one would care that he had been Harry first. He could – find a nice cave, whatever it was goblins did. Harry didn’t know; his aunt and uncle detested anything remotely magic-related, including fairy stories.

In the whisper of silence between one of his uncle’s steps and the next, two arms wrapped around Harry and he blinked out of sight.

~*~ 

“Is he going to be alright?” An anxious voice asked. Harry blinked dizzily. It was a nice voice, a woman’s, soft and warm.

“I daresay he’ll be fine, just a little dizzy from your apparition. It does take practice to make it as smooth as possible for the children, and I’ve had _plenty_ of that. You’re still perfecting it.” This voice was masculine, close by. Harry was too busy studying the stone ceiling to pay it any attention. He’d lost his glasses at some point, he realized. Maybe the ceiling was just grey, in that case.

“You’ve had plenty of practice because you’re ancient, darling.” The woman again, and Harry realized abruptly she was holding him. It was an unfamiliar sensation; but as she spoke she moved him closer to her body – warm. It was warm. She was warm, rather, and Harry never wanted the moment to end.

A face filled his vision, and he realized it must be the woman’s. She had soft green eyes with strange brows, and wild dark hair that fell over her shoulder and tickled his skin. Harry stopped breathing – he was afraid if he did, she might decide she didn’t like him and throw him away.

She smiled at him gently. “Hello,” she murmured, “I’m sorry about the trip, it’s my first time transporting a child.”

A man came to stand next to her – probably the one who had spoken earlier, Harry thought. He was very, very tall, with even wilder – blond – hair, and mismatched eyes.

“You’re a curious case, child.” The man said, not unkindly. “Who’s to run my labyrinth for you, when you wished yourself away?” He smiled, a quirk of his lips.

“Jareth,” the woman said, frowning. “I found him in a cupboard. There was a bed in it.”

“Mine.” Harry whispered.

Both adults looked at him, then. The man leaned closer, “You sleep in a cupboard?” He asked, his tone soft and smooth. 

The woman’s arms had tightened around him. There was something burning in her eyes now, fierce and bright. Harry nodded nervously.

The man pressed a long-fingered, gloved hand to Harry’s cheek. “You are far away from that now. Tell me, why did you wish yourself away? It – isn’t a thing done often.” His eyes cut to the woman’s, who pretended not to notice.

“I – afraid, um, I was, afraid, of my uncle.” Harry murmured. The woman adjusted her hold on him, so that now he was pressed against her side, her arms balancing him against her hip. He could see more of the room like this. He didn’t bother to look. He stared at the floor, or what he could make out of it without his glasses – which, admittedly, hadn’t helped much – he hadn’t seen an actual doctor for them.

“Why were you afraid?” The man asked next, and Harry cautiously looked up at him.

He paused and nibbled his lip nervously. “Uncle…” He trailed off. His aunt’s voice sounded in his head: _You’re a liar, boy, saying such nasty things about your uncle to the teachers! How dare you! You should be_ grateful.

“You were afraid of your uncle?” The woman clarified, gently. She was swaying gently back and forth with Harry on her hip – the movement was calming. The tall, wild man had leaned down so that his face was nearly on level with Harry’s, his expression politely curious but not threatening – and not concerned, like the teacher’s had been, the one time Harry had told.

“Yes?” Harry said, like a question, like he could take the answer back if it was wrong. The man moved closer still, dropping to one knee in front of Harry. “Child,” he said, gently, “I realize I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Jareth, I am the Goblin King. You’re in my castle, in the arms of my Queen, Sarah. If you fear that your uncle might find you here, and punish you for any answer you give to our questions, realize this: I am far older and more powerful than he, and command an army. And my darling wife,” he looked up at her as he spoke, “is a force not unlike nature. You have nothing to fear. We can more than protect you.”

Harry took this in and turned it over. It sounded fantastical, impossible. But he was here, and he could feel the woman’s arms, and if he focused the thread of her pulse from where his body was pressed against her chest. A steady beat that he knew from feeling his own in the dark cupboard; a reminder of reality.

Still, he spoke his answer more to the delicately embroidered fabric of the Queen’s shirt than to either of them.

“My uncle hurts me.” He told the thread flowers and the soft white cotton. “If I’ve been bad, he hits me.” he said, as quiet as a breath.

The man straightened. The King and Queen did not exchange a glance – they knew one another well enough to know the course of action they were going to follow.

“Do you have a name, little one?” The woman – Queen Sarah – asked him gently.

He paused for only a second – sometimes he mixed up his name with what his family called him. But he remembered it better after a disastrous mistake at school – his name was _Harry_ , not _Freak_. Unless he was at home.

He tells her.

“Harry,” the King says, solemnly, “would you like to stay with us? We would care for you, naturally, and keep you safe.”

Harry is six – he is a child. He does not consider the greater complexities of the choice, he considers this: his cupboard is cold and lonely. The Queen’s arms are warm and friendly.

He nods.

“Normally,” the King says, “we would have to try and find you a suitable champion to run the Labyrinth, such are the rules. But under the circumstances – _Borke!_ ”

Harry doesn’t see where the reply comes from, it seems to come from near the floor, but he’s too busy looking at the Queen, who has settled one of her hands against his cheek and is murmuring gently to him in a language he doesn’t know.

“Yes, king?”

“Run the Labyrinth. Fail.” The King commands.

The goblin does. Harry remains.

 ~*~ 

The Harry Potter who grows up in the Underground does not have a horcrux in his head. Why would he? His adopted father was an old, magical creature, and it only took him a single glance to realize what was going on – and he wasn’t a rubbish guardian, so he had it removed right away.

The Goblin monarchs hadn’t been paying much attention to the wizarding world of Britain. Oh, they knew the gist of events from the assorted goblins who lived and worked up there, but as it had yet to apply directly to their kingdom, they hadn’t yet done anything about it.

But Jareth and Sarah had never done anything by halves – and certainly not when they were focused on the same goal. And while Sarah’s heart was more obvious, Jareth’s was just as quick.

They loved Harry.

So after the horcrux was removed, they called assorted goblins to tell them about their new charge. His name was not hard to figure out – there aren’t many people running around with horcruxes in their heads, after all.

So they called the Potter accounts manager and a few goblins who knew more about wizarding history and another who was well abreast of current events regarding Lord Voldemort. And they had a lengthy discussion with the curse-breaker who removed the horcrux from Harry’s head.

And, as they amassed more and more knowledge, they became more concerned.

Wizards find it easy to assume that goblins care about money and business and little else. They don’t pause to think that they might collect _information_ – after all, information is very valuable. When the goblins learned that their monarchs were interested in anything regarding Harry Potter, they were more than pleased to bring it to them.

This was how Jareth and Sarah learned of the prophecy, of the failure of the wizarding world to give Sirius Black a proper trial, and of Dumbledore’s assorted manipulations.

They had a brief argument about Sirius Black – Sarah thought they should follow proper procedures to get him removed from Azkaban and tried. Jareth didn’t see the point; he could send some goblins to collect the man and interrogate him himself. Much quicker. Eventually, they went with Sarah’s plan, if only because she pointed out that Black might want to return to his world as a free man.

He wouldn’t be allowed to take Harry, of course, but he was the boy’s godfather, and Sarah had that look in her eye Jareth knew – the one that said she’d found a cause and was going to follow it, and the one that said she was amassing a rag-tag sort of army. She’d done it when she’d run the Labyrinth, after all. He marveled at her ability to gather people to her cause practically without trying. And so he let her.

Jareth, while Sarah was busy freeing an innocent man and collecting herself a werewolf along the way, quietly sent out his goblins to find any remaining horcruxes. It was a quiet, quick process. Jareth oversaw it personally, his lips drawn back in a sneer at the sickly magic as each item was purified. They weren’t hard to find or fix – goblin magic is different from wizard, and wizards more often than not forget this and don’t account for it, even in their darkest spells.

And when he was done he came back to two strange men in his throne room, playing with little Harry while his wife and Queen surveyed them with a pleased look.

They were Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, of course. Sirius was indeed innocent, Sarah told him, and he’d started asking about Remus as soon as he’d confirmed Harry was safe. Sarah hadn’t seen any problem with collecting the other wizard as well. They had plenty of bedrooms, she told Jareth, and Harry would need tutors, and well, they were such nice gentlemen.

And Jareth had sighed and asked why she bothered to convince him; she knew full well he would do all that she asked.

So Harry grew up knowing who he was and what had happened, and learning everything he might need to participate in the wizarding world, as well as anything he might need for his adopted one.

And he was happy.

~*~

Albus Dumbledore was not happy.

He had known about Harry’s disappearance almost immediately, but it hadn’t helped. No amount of searching would reveal where the boy had gone, although he knew he was alive – he had consulted the magic book that contained the names of Hogwarts students, including future ones.

He wasn’t happy about other strange goings on, either. Sirius Black had been found innocent and freed, and had refused to speak to him since. Lupin had simply disappeared entirely, although this was less cause for concern. It rankled, though, to not have his people lined up straight – didn’t they know how important this was?

And there was the matter of the cloak, and of Harry’s vault key – both had disappeared. The key, he supposed, might have been called back to Gringott’s, if the goblins had noticed he shouldn’t, strictly speaking, have it, but the cloak was another matter.

But there was nothing for it. All Albus could do was wait.

And wait he did, until the time came to send Harry’s letter, and he watched, with bated breath, as the enchanted quill gracefully spelled out the address –

  _Harry Potter_

_Care of Gringott’s Bank_

_Diagon Alley_

Which only brought forth more questions than it answered.

And as the year wore on, few of those questions were properly answered.

~*~

Harry came to Hogwarts, although Dumbledore was never aware of the debate that had gone into the decision. It had been Harry’s choice, in the end, wanting to see his birth parents’ school. And, once he’d made up his mind and argued his mother over to his side, his father hadn’t been difficult to convince. Although they _had_ layered Harry over with protections of all sorts, _and_ uncle Sirius had decided to get a place a little closer to Hogwarts. He’d been stepping into his role as Lord Black, and helping to manage the Lord Potter position until Harry was old enough, so he needed to spend more time aboveground anyway.

Harry came to school already knowing the ceiling was enchanted, forewarned about Snape’s possible dislike, with his pockets full of sweets and his mother’s kiss on his forehead.

He came to school with the smallest and slyest goblins following him as a silent guard, too, but Harry didn’t know that.

He refused to tell anyone the full truth of where he’d grown up, staring defiantly at any teacher who questioned him, only saying that his family loved him very much.

And he wrote letters home twice a week; carried by a strange white owl who seemed suspiciously intelligent and who never flew far from the castle. Sometimes the owl came to visit him at breakfast with a stranger owl in tow – a barn owl, larger and fiercer looking, who would perch on Harry’s shoulder and try to fluff his hair more and study the whole hall distrustfully. Harry, still a Gryffindor, had to promise his friends the bird wouldn’t hurt them. They mostly believed him. He said it was his father’s owl, although he laughed when he did.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione discovered the Cerberus, Harry wrote home about it. Being an eleven-year-old, he mostly thought it was _awesome_ , although he promised his mother and uncle Lupin he hadn’t gotten too close.

It didn’t matter, of course. The next day the barn owl was back, and it gripped Harry’s shoulders in it’s talons and glared at the head table until Dumbledore was called away unexpectedly to a meeting.

With a regal, tall woman with wild dark hair and brilliant eyes who gave him such a tongue lashing for keeping a dangerous creature in a school full of children it wasn’t until nearly the end that he managed to ask which child was hers.

“Harry Potter.” She said, sternly, and for half a breath he thought this was Lily, with her green eyes, somehow transformed into a living, bossy American. But it wasn’t.

“I’m his adopted mother,” the woman said sternly, “and I want this beast out of the school! What sort of madman keeps such a creature in a room easily accessible by students with a first-year unlocking spell?!”

He had tried to reassure her, to persuade her it was fine, all without telling her that the dog, and the other protections she didn’t know about, were there both to keep Voldemort out and test Harry.

But she wasn’t to be persuaded, and swore to him she would see the beast taken out of the school.

And Dumbledore worried he had met his match.

~*~

Harry never charmed the Cerberus, or went beneath it to find the stone. His first year at Hogwarts turned out to be mundane, really. There was a little drama when his Defense-Against-the-Dark-Arts teacher disappeared, but aside from that, it was a perfectly normal year.

He never fought a snake in his second year, either. The first time he wrote home about hearing it, his mother and father visited the school. They brought Harry some of his favorite goblin treats and invited his friends to a Christmas party, and didn’t tell Harry when they had a goblin snatch away the journal from Ginny, or when his father went beneath the school to where he felt ancient magic and settled things with the basilisk. He almost didn’t notice his father was gone, he was too busy listening to his mother tell him a story.

There was no godfather to escape Azkaban his third year, because his godfather was Underground, writing Harry letters detailing some of the pranks he and Harry’s birth father had gotten up to as kids.

Harry’s years at Hogwarts, if compared to those of another Harry who never wished himself away, were quiet. For a boy who never carried the weight of the world, they weren’t. They were filled with friends, studies, pranks, quidditch, and all the things childhood should have.

He knew, in a distant way, that Voldemort had survived the events of that Halloween. But when he’d asked his father about it (after a distressing conversation with his headmaster), his father told him that if that idiot man expected that they would let _Harry_ , a _child_ , handle it, he was insane. He had kissed his son’s head and told him, calmly, that it was being handled.

And Harry’s father was a king, so what reason did he have to disbelieve him?

It was only when Harry was much older than his father told him the story of how Voldemort finally died. How he and Harry’s mother had taken a band of fierce goblins and hunted the man down, still nothing more than a ghost in a grotesque baby-form, because this was done well before fourth year (Harry spent the Triwizard Tournament in the stands, cheering for Cedric, who did eventually win). Harry remembered the look in his father’s eyes and the twist of his lips when he told Harry that Voldemort had been no match for them. They’d brought along Remus and Sirius, and made quick work of the whole thing. 

So Harry grew happy and content. He went home for the holidays, and he had friends over to uncle Sirius’ when he wanted, or to the place in the country his mother bought (though they only stayed there sporadically during the holidays). He didn’t bring anyone to the Underground, of course, but that was alright.

And if Harry remembered the short time he spent at the Dursley’s, it was only rarely and briefly. He never heard from them, and he was much to busy studying for his tests and sparring with his dad and preparing to be Lord Potter and Prince Harry someday to worry about _all that_ anyway.

And when he was thirteen and his mother got pregnant, well, Harry couldn’t have been persuaded to worry about anything Dumbledore got up to or any other manipulations for _anything_ , because he had a baby sister now and he was going to be the Best Big Brother Ever (he’d recruited the Weasley’s to teach him).

Harry was happy, and safe, and that was all that really mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there we go. I know it gets kind of summery-ish in the end rather than proper scenes, but it was how the story wanted to be told. I hope you like it.
> 
> I tried to resist bashing on Dumbledore too much - in this story, he's not evil or anything so much as he's blinded by his desire for The Greater Good, something Harry's adopted parents have no patience for whatsoever.


End file.
